


More haste less speed.

by millygal



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Introspection, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Quickies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-13
Updated: 2013-10-13
Packaged: 2017-12-29 08:33:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1003260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/millygal/pseuds/millygal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a sin they can't bring themselves to repent for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	More haste less speed.

Ragged Formica edges biting deep into sweaty callused palms, soft but no less frantic moans of anticipation mingled with the lack of grace involved in a quick erratic jump in yet another random Vic's kitchen.

It should be a wholly unattractive prospect; fucking like rabbid animals in some poor dead man's house, but it never fails to turn one or the other of them into a panting, wanting mess.

They rarely manage to snag more than a few moments alone at the best of times. Too close to the end of every fucking thing that walks instead of slithering or crawling, the brother's barely get chance to tie their shoes, let alone indulge in activities best suited to candle light and a king size bed.

It's been years since they've enjoyed a night off and a slow exploration of warm tingling flesh. Relegated to fast fumbles in the dark, hand jobs in roadside bathrooms and hastily manoeuvred blow jobs in the back of the car. 

The opportunity for _alone time_ is too good to pass up, even if Sam says he can feel the dead man's eyes watching him, despite Dean constantly worrying that the spook they're meant to be ganking will take the bait and creep in on the vinegar stroke.

One of these days they'll get pulled up for a salt and burn and 'Sexual conduct in close proximity to the deceased' will be added to their long list of felony misdemeanours, but until the day Joe-Law slaps them with a fine for fucking in a dead guy's crib, they'll take what they can get when they can get it.

Dean thinks perhaps they'll both end up back in hell for no other reason than they can't keep it in their pants long enough to finish a simple job, but hey, if they're destined to ride the town car down they may as well get their money's worth.

The lack of light only adds to the feel of Sam's tightening muscles gripping him like a vice. The hitch in his baby boy's breathing matches the stutter in his own hips and he's not far from offering up his tattered soul for a chance to empty himself in familiarly searing heat.

"De...harder, quick, need to.."

Even though he can't see a damn thing with his eyes open, Sam still lets his lashes drift shut and bangs his head against the counter top, hoping the pain will stave off his knee buckling orgasm just that little longer.

This is _it_ for Sam; hanging on the razor thin edge, toes over the brink, looking down into the abyss. 

As Sam's breathing shudders to a complete stop Dean's balls tighten and nothing in the world could tear them apart, not when this is the only thing that defines them from the creatures they hunt.

The force with which Dean's release is ripped from his throbbing cock drives him to bite down hard on Sam's shoulder, gaining a mouthful of jacket instead of salty flesh.

Not for the first time he wishes they could just disappear, for a day, maybe if they're sly enough they could pull off two. 

As much as the heightened sense of panic adds to the lust fuelled haze in which they seem to permanently exist, it would be nice to take his time once in a while. Re-learning what Sammy looks like in the light isn't much to ask but it seems impossible when the shit keeps hitting the fan every fucking minute of every fucking day.

Dean rides Sam's ass like he's a thrashing bull and holds on through his own come down just to make sure he shoves his brother passed the point of no return. He may be an easy lay in darkened corners but he's still mostly a gentleman.

Sam feels Dean's release trickling down his inner thigh and it bodily shunts him off the ledge. Cock pulsing in Dean's hand, shooting streams of incriminating evidence all over another crime scene.

They don't have time for whispered words of endearment, they wouldn't know what to say if they did. It's been so long since either of them had the spare seconds to reach up and caress the other's face that the sentiments would sound alien in their ears.

"Dude, clean yourself out the crime scene."

Sam's already tucked in and buttoned up before Dean gives him advice he didn't need.

Crouching, stumbling in the dark, Sam swipes his hand along the edge of the kitchen counter they just thoroughly violated before straightening and bumping shoulders with Dean, "Yeah cos I want the local PD fingering me for murder."

The childish giggle Dean gives is testament to the fact no matter how long he lives, the elder of the two Winchesters will always find the funny, even in amongst the truly fucked up, and Sam's grateful for it.

Sometimes all you need is hasty screw and a little irreverent humour to get you through the night.


End file.
